


Office Party like it's 1831

by Verabird



Category: French History RPF, Historical RPF, Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: M/M, Ribbon Bondage, The Paris Prefecture Soap Opera, gisquet is face down on a mattress somewhere and chabouillet has a hangover, historically accurate glitter, ribbon gags, sexy times edition, top quality banter, top!Javert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-26
Updated: 2016-04-26
Packaged: 2018-06-04 14:26:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6662467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Verabird/pseuds/Verabird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Henri and I tied him up as a bit of a joke, we fully intended to do something with him although for the life of me I cannot remember what it was...</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Chabouillet and Henri throw a (sex) party in the prefecture, but Jules-Ernest is a jealous little thing and can't bare to spend another night watching Javert get fawned over for being just so damn good at giving blow jobs.</p><p>So he sends Javert out on a fool's errand ensuring he misses the party (orgy). </p><p>The next morning: Chabouillet is not happy at having missed the presence of his patron, he wants to make up for the lost time and also punish the man responsible. Luckily Ernest is in just the right position to allow him to kill two birds with one stone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Office Party like it's 1831

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jehane18](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jehane18/gifts), [Firestorm717](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Firestorm717/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The Cabinet Particulier](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6604528) by [iberiandoctor (jehane18)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jehane18/pseuds/iberiandoctor). 



> It's crack...I keep telling myself it's just crack, but somehow I've managed to care for this early 19th century version of The Office with far more sex a great deal. 
> 
> ????????????????!?!?!?!??!

Javert wasn't jealous. No, that was definitely not the emotion he was feeling.

The order had arrived on his desk, stamped and approved, so dutifully he trotted off to Les Halles to stand on a street corner for several hours, staying there until the early hours of the morn. Once the time was up he felt cold, tired, and very much like a whore who'd had no customers - leaning on the lamp post as he had been. But, the order had come from Gisquet himself, and there must be a good reason. Of course, upon arriving back at the prefecture to make his report he realised what the reason was. The revelry was over, but the trickles of celebration still poured down the marble steps.

So, Gisquet had sent him away whilst the whole prefecture had a party, well, that was his decision to make and Javert would not question it. And, no, there were no pangs in his heart at the thought of Chabouillet lying amidst a fawning pile of semi-clothed young men. He definitely was not imagining the crinkles at the corner of his patron's eyes when he laughed, or his rather lovely smile, and the clench in his chest had absolutely nothing to do with a vision of Chabouillet bringing an elegant hand to rest on the naked haunch of Jules. Either Jules, it didn't matter, he hated them both, more so now than ever before.

He sidestepped the drunken passed out body of some clerk or prostitute, who cared which, who even cared if he was dead and not merely unconscious; not Javert. Definitely not Javert as he kept staunch posture and tried not to look at the empty champagne bottles and partially eaten trays of macarons that littered the office.

So they'd all had a very nice time, well, good for them. Javert had been out doing important police work and that was satisfaction enough. He filed the report quickly, it didn't take much time as he hadn't seen or done anything, and slipped it inside his desk ready to hand over in the morning. He walked home in a huff, only angry because of the cold and the late hour, it had nothing, nothing at all, to do with the thought of some pretty lips wrapped around Chabouillet's cock that weren't his own.

The next day he woke easily with the sun. Some of his irritation had dissipated, not that Javert was irritated at anything in particular he'd have anyone know, it was just general irritation. No events of the prior evening had sparked annoyance or anger, this was merely a fluctuation of natural emotion. Javert felt fine, completely fine, he even greeted the porter as he left his apartment, although it came out as a grunt rather than words, Javert considered that pleasantry.

The prefecture was still repairing itself from the merriment of the night before. Javert thought he saw glitter under the fingernails of the man who wielded the broom, and it had seeped generously into the cracks in the tiles. He sniffed in distaste as he poured a heap of finely ground turquoise malachite from the paper on his desk to the floor.

There was a paper garland strung over his desk. He tore it in two and tossed this to the floor also. Then he lifted the desk to retrieve the report from the night before. He decided to take it to Gisquet personally, stare the man in the eye, and silently accuse him of locking him out from the evening's entertainment. Javert had anxieties that his seniors would grow tired of him at any time, and Gisquet was doing a poor job of reassuring him, but even Chabouillet hadn't protested his absence. Not that Javert cared. He didn't care at all.

On his way to Gisquet's office he passed a clerk with heavy bags under his eyes and a distinctly ruffled appearance. The man smirked, Javert ignored the smirk and the way he limped slightly, continuing on his way. The report was clutched triumphantly in his hand as he knocked on Gisquet's door.

No answer. Well, surely the prefect could grace him with an audience, Javert had spent the night in the freezing cold for seemingly no reason just for him, and Javert would be damned if the report did not get delivered. He waited a minute, knocked again, waited a minute more, then decided it might be best to just leave the report on the prefect's desk and remind him of its presence later. He opened the door and entered.

The sight that greeted him wasn't unpleasant exactly, but it wasn't what Javert was expecting. He stared for a long while, and Jules-Ernest stared back. Neither of them spoke. On Javert's part this was because he was shocked into stunned silence. For poor Ernest however, the reason for his silence was more physically obvious, mostly in part due to the shiny satin ribbon that was wound several times across his mouth, parting his lips and digging gently into the corners. It was a light burgundy and made his lips look very red indeed.

Similar ribbon was wound tightly around his wrists and attached to the back of the canapé, this ribbon was a dark forest green. Royal blue tied each ankle to a separate leg of the canapé and a fetching purple criss-crossed his chest. Perhaps most intriguing was the sugar pink that was tied into a neat bow around the man's cock. Javert was observant, he could see that it was hard and red and desperately wanting, and judging by the extent of the stain that Ernest was sitting in he had been desperately wanting for some time.

In a strange turn of events, Ernest managed to find his voice first, he squealed in that irritating way that Javert found particularly grating, and then began trying to create words. They came out in humiliating 'Mmmphf!' sounds and Javert tried not to find a certain amount of pleasure in watching the delicate man wriggle and squeak in discomfort.

"I take it you had fun last night?"

Javert was cruel to pose a question, knowing that Ernest was used to running his mouth off and would need to answer it. Sure enough, an indignant squeal escaped Ernest's mouth, an unseemly amount of saliva running down his chin. Javert watched patiently, grateful for the heavy thickness of his coat as it draped across the front of his trousers.

"Can I help you in any way at all, Monsieur Nay? Perhaps you need some assistance?"

Ernest screamed; high-pitched, immature, pathetic, the usual. Javert smiled to himself. He wasn't begrudging the previous evening so much any more, not when he had this delightful little present to goad the next morning.

Javert edged a little closer and Ernest's eyes went wide, he renewed his struggling which served to spread his legs wider and tighten the grip of the ribbons. Javert noticed thin red lines digging into his wrists and ankles. It wouldn't be fair to leave him like this for too much longer, not if Gisquet had tied him up at some point last night and then presumably gotten so drunk that he'd forgotten about him.

Javert found great comfort in the idea that Gisquet would forget about Jules-Ernest. The man had a way of flouncing into one's mind and planting himself firmly down and refusing to leave. Javert stepped forward and reached out a hand, it was darker than Monsieur Nay's skin that was so pale it looked like it had never seen the light of day. His hand was large and could almost wrap round the whole of the secretary's thigh, but Javert settled for just resting it there, watching in amusement as Ernest tried to buck into it and gain some much needed friction. The poor man's cock looked so painful, flushed and leaking, as it must have been sporadically for the past few hours.

Javert sighed and brought his mind back to his duty. Gisquet wasn't in his office which meant he probably hadn't even made it into the building this morning. Likely he was face down on a mattress somewhere and Javert prayed it was the prefect's own.

"I'll fetch Monsieur Chabouillet."

Ernest squeaked something behind his ribbon gag, strangely inquisitive, gesturing wildly to his bonds. Javert passed a cursory glance over the boy's wrists and ankles and considered removing them himself. But, no, that wouldn't be nearly as satisfying.

"If Gisquet prettied you up like this, Monsieur Nay, then I cannot go against his desires and free you. Monsieur Chabouillet will know what to do. Perhaps we can send a messenger to Monsieur le Prefect, the answer would be here by the afternoon at least and then you could have your release."

Ernest watched in horror as Javert stood and made to leave the room, writhing frantically and screaming in frustration. Javert gave him a cheery wave before closing the door.

As he approached Chabouillet's office a clerk hurried forward to stop him from knocking on the door.

"What is it? I'm in a hurry," Javert asked the clerk brusquely. Although, all things considered, to not be in a rush might be preferable in this situation.

"Monsieur le Secretaire requested that no one knock on his door today."

"He is in his office?"

"Yes, Inspector."

"Then how is he to see anyone if no one may knock on his door."

The clerk ran a finger under his collar, not used to interrogation, and fixed his gaze somewhere over Javert's shoulder.

"You may see him. He just doesn't want any loud noises."

"Ah, I see," Javert said in understanding. So, his patron was nursing a hangover, and a small part of him felt a sense of smugness. If Javert had been at last night's entertainments he would have limited his patron's unwavering hand as it continued to pour out glasses of champagne, and he would have forced plenty of water on Chabouillet despite the protests. He had done so many times before. The memories of holding Chabouillet's beautiful golden curls back and wiping his cheeks clean were almost fond. Serve him right.

Javert winced and mentally chastised himself. It would not do to think of his patron in this way. Gisquet wanted him gone from the building and he had obeyed. No fault had been committed.

He opened the door slowly, taking care to make the squeak of hinges as quiet as possible. Someone had made up the fire and Chabouillet was sitting in front of it. He was in his shirt-sleeves, his coat was in a crumpled pile on the floor, and his usually perfectly coifed hair was in slight disarray. One hand was pressed to his temple while he frowned in dismay and looked thoroughly miserable. Javert felt a pang of guilt.

"Monsieur le Secretaire," He said quietly from the doorway. "There is a pressing matter I need your guidance with."

Chabouillet turned his head slowly as if every movement hurt and looked at Javert through glazed eyes. He looked almost vulnerable and Javert wasn't sure if he liked that very much.

"Javert," Chabouillet murmured, sounding like a dying man. "I was very disappointed last night."

Javert raised an eyebrow and came further into the room. Chabouillet clicked his neck and moaned as the cricks dissipated. "Come here Javert, I could do with your hands right now."

Javert moved to Chabouillet's side and knelt down, pressing the palm of his hand to his patron's thigh. Chabouillet stared at him for a moment in confusion, then sighed. "No, Javert, I'm sorry. My back, please, it's causing me great pain."

Javert nodded and stood quickly, turning his hands to Chabouillet's shoulders. He ran them smooth across the man's upper back before kneading gently, bringing them round to his collarbone and then back down his shoulder blades. Chabouillet moaned softly, wincing in pain and pleasure. He rolled his shoulders back into Javert's touch and brought a hand up to rest against his protégé's fingers.

"What disappointed you, Monsieur?" Javert asked politely.

"It felt such a rare thing," Chabouillet said. "It was you yourself Javert."

"Me? Monsieur, if I have offended you must act swiftly and with justice."

Chabouillet winced harshly and closed his eyes. "Please do not raise your voice Javert. My poor head will split clean in two."

"My apologies, Monsieur," Javert practically whispered. "But, please, explain how I disappointed you for I never want to be in a position where I might again."

"Well, for a start, where were you?"

"Les Halles."

"Les Halles?!" Chabouillet shouted in disbelief, then cried out in pain at the volume of his own voice and clasped a hand to his forehead. "Mon dieu," He said much more quietly. "What in God's name were you doing there?"

"I was sent."

"By whom?"

"Monsieur Gisquet."

There was a pause, which turned into a silence, and the silence kept growing until it was a lengthy thing out of control. Chabouillet pressed his hand against Javert's atop his shoulders, stilling it, then he sighed deeply.

"I cannot believe such a thing."

"I was given an order and I obeyed it to the best of my ability. Monsieur, what have I done wrong?"

Chabouillet closed his eyes, took in a deep breath and counted to ten in his head. "Henri and I had plans for you. You were an essential part of the entertainment, but where were you? Gallivanting through Les Halles like an idiot—"

"I wasn't gallivanting."

"Javert, a thousand pardons, but if the phrase 'to gallivant' should apply to anyone, why, then it is you."

Javert pursed his lips and stared down at the way Chabouillet's fingers traced over his own, taking hold of his palms and squeezing.

"There we were, filled to the brim with the finest wine, and that magnificent creature Jules Nabon Devaux was performing so excellently. He reminds me of you when we first met, he has that defiance behind his eyes, but physically the resemblance is quite striking. Alas, I digress. There we were, waiting for you, for I had such a great moment planned. I believe, and I managed to convince Henri of it too, that should the two of you pair in such a way, cast only in the dim light of candle, then it would look uncannily like the same man. Imagine my excitement Javert! I raised you, fed you from my open hand, you were just a boy when I first inspected the police academy and chose you to be my protégée, and after all this time I could watch the man I shaped and moulded become one with the man who was the clay I poured so carefully into the mould. Yet, you did not appear, because you were frolicking round the streets of Paris."

"I wasn't frolicking!"

"Yes Javert! Frolicking! Frolicking I say! Prancing around in your stupid hat in Les Halles." Chabouillet sat back with a huff.

"I fear Monsieur is still under the influence of the presumably large quantities of wine he drank last night," Javert said diplomatically. "I have by far the least stupid hat in the whole building."

Chabouillet blinked up at Javert, face a mask of petulancy. Pouting was better suited to boys like Ernest, not respectable men like Chabouillet. "Who gave you the order?" He demanded.

"Jules, he placed it on my desk. It has signed and bore Monsieur Gisquet's stamp, and speaking of Jules—"

"Javert, you are such a fool," Chabouillet interrupted.

Javert frowned, but Chabouillet dropped his hands back to his lap and allowed Javert to continue massaging his shoulders.

"Which Jules?"

"Jules-Ernest, and Monsieur I must tell you—"

"Javert, you are the biggest fool I know."

Chabouillet sighed and rose from the chair, shaking Javert's hands away. He rolled his shoulders and stretched with a groan. He moved to the pile of garments that lay discarded on the floor and picked up his coat. He brushed the creases of the silk out as best he could and shrugged it onto his shoulders, still looking far from the picture of usual decorum.

"Monsieur, I admit it, I am a fool. However, please listen. During the course of events last night, is it possible that you left something behind in Gisquet's office?"

"What are you talking about Javert?"

"A loose end that you only tied up part way?"

Chabouillet stared at him for a long moment until clarity dawned on him. He opened his eyes wide in horror. "Good God! The poor man's been there all night!"

"He appears to be in some distress."

"Why didn't you let him go?" There was a hint of a smile in Chabouillet's expression, an admiration for Javert for not succumbing.

"It was not my place to do so."

"No...no of course not, quite right..." Chabouillet trailed off, lost in thought. His eyes drifted from Javert, to the fireplace, to the way the light shone off the sculpted silver wolf's head on the top of his cane, then back to Javert. "We must make amends then."

Javert bowed his head low and followed Chabouillet as he made his way out into the corridor beyond. Javert walked a pace behind in respect which made it easier to hide his excitement. He felt the way he did before collecting the results of the snare, the perfect moment after the chase is over but the prize is yet to be devoured.

As Gisquet's office door swung open Ernest raised his eyes in hope, he looked pitiful. His cock was still hard and leaking, he'd made a complete mess of the canapé and no doubt it would have to be reupholstered. The cost should come out of the boy's wages, Javert thought.

Chabouillet regarded the sight and rested on his cane. Javert's eyes glanced over Ernest, his pale skin gleamed with the sweat of the struggle, and his cheeks were flushed and pink. He must have been awake all night.

"Good morning, Monsieur Nay," Chabouillet greeted, nodding as if the secretary had just brought him a tray of tea. "Javert was just informing me of your predicament."

Ernest squirmed under Chabouillet's accusatory gaze and Javert smirked in satisfaction. Ernest was caught between politeness and the wet ribbons in his mouth that still stopped his speech. He mumbled part of a greeting them went completely silent. Chabouillet raised his cane and placed the bronze tip down on the surface of the canapé between Ernest's thighs provoking a whimper. Chabouillet tapped it against one of Ernest's inner thighs and then the other, spreading them as far as the royal blue ankle ribbons would allow.

"You committed several offences last night, Monsieur Nay. Say hello to penance."

Ernest, ridiculous man that he was, looked like he genuinely was about to say hello to an abstract concept, but Chabouillet moved forward quickly and the man gasped instead. Chabouillet glanced down at the canapé and perched delicately on the end, away from the wet stain that was spreading. He looked at Ernest with a mixture of contempt and amusement, then beckoned Javert over.

Javert knelt beside Chabouillet and gazed up at him with reverence. Chabouillet smiled warmly down at him.

"Last night, you forged the signature of the prefect of the Paris police, you stole his stamp, you sent a good officer into a dangerous night, look at the poor Inspector, he can hardly be expected to protect himself."

Ernest met Javert's eyes and Javert grinned back at him, fearsome, wolfish, all teeth. Ernest gulped, the knot in his throat moving visibly.

"Perhaps the greatest crime of all," Chabouillet continued. "You prevented my oldest and dearest friend from attending my festivities, and not only that, you took it upon yourself to stop what could have been some of the greatest visuals ever seen by the human eye."

It took Javert a few moments to realise that it was he that was considered the oldest and dearest friend. Then again, he'd known Chabouillet for thirty years or so, and they'd become intimate fairly soon after meeting, it seemed only right. He glowed with warmth and pride.

"So, Monsieur Nay, all things considered I think the punishment I shall bestow will be apt. Javert, remove the boy's gag, I want to hear him scream properly."

Javert reached a hand up to Ernest's mouth and worked his fingers through the knot in the wet ribbon. It fell away, lost to the marble floor, and Ernest immediately gulped and coughed.

"Monsieur Chabouillet! My most humble apologies! I acted out of turn! I must be punished of course, but please be merciful, Monsieur! I beg you, you know I don't take pain well!" It came out a garbled mess, hoarse throat and all. Javert tried not to laugh, but Chabouillet was not so good at suppressing his mirth.

"It is not I you have most wronged. I am not the one most deserving of your apologies."

"Monsieur Javert!" Ernest screeched. "I'm sorry! I am so sorry! A million apologies! More than a million! Please! P-p-please! I beg you to be kind!"

"Good Lord he's pathetic," Chabouillet muttered. "I don't know what Henri sees in you. Well, I do see it, but surely a pretty face cannot make up for a completely empty skull."

Ernest whimpered and Chabouillet snorted. He placed a hand on Ernest's chest and splayed his fingers over the crossed ribbons, glancing them slowly down, across his stomach, touching the base of his cock. Ernest rutted instinctively and Chabouillet rolled his eyes.

"Javert does not accept your apologies. He will take punishment instead, won't you Javert?"

"Yes, Monsieur." Javert tried in vain to keep his voice flat and void of desperation, but he was fully hard in his trousers now and the sight of Chabouillet's hand on the haunch of a naked Jules was no longer a source for anguish.

"Very good," Chabouillet said, and he rose to lean against the desk. "Your clothes then."

Javert obeyed, swiftly stripping himself of his outer garments and then unbuttoning his trousers. He let out a a sigh of relief as he released his erection and without prompting moved forward to rub his length against Ernest's inner thighs. Ernest's skin was so soft and smooth, barely touched at all before he arrived in the prefecture. He tilted his hips back as much as the ribbons would allow and cried out. Javert pulled back.

"Oh Javert," Chabouillet groaned. "I forget what a natural you are at this."

Javert glanced towards his superior and noticed that his hands had also fumbled with his trousers and he was now leaning against Gisquet's desk with his own erection in his hand. "Grab his hair. Firmly."

Javert obeyed, grasping a fistful of Ernest's hair in his fist and twisting painfully. Ernest shrieked and kicked his legs futilely.

"Monsieur le Inspector! Forgive me please!" His eyes were watering as Javert pulled back on his hair, yanking his neck back so he was forced to look at the ceiling. Javert didn't relent, but looked to Chabouillet for further instruction. Chabouillet was grasping his cock firmly and thrusting into his palm with fervour, a look of pleasure gracing his face.

"Very good, very good, we shall have him screaming yet. Bite him Javert, choose a place that looks inviting."

Javert grinned, showing his teeth to Ernest, before leaning in to sink them into the soft flesh above his collar bone. Ernest shrieked in pain and tugged in a loud gasp. Javert bit hard, then softened to nibbling gently and sucking. On a stronger man the sensation would be pleasurable, on a delicate petal such as Ernest it was too painful for words.

Chabouillet moaned loudly as he watched Javert's lips press against Ernest's chest, brushing against the ribbons, sliding further downwards, before he dived between Ernest's thighs and sunk his teeth in there. The skin was softer here and Javert sucked hard at the pink flushed skin so close to Ernest's desperate need for release.

"Have mercy!" The man cried above him and Chabouillet laughed at his despair. Tears streamed down his cheeks and pooled in the hollow of his throat. Chabouillet kept his cock grasped in one hand, but with the other he reached out with his cane and poked Ernest in the stomach. "The sin is not so sweet now, Monsieur Nay. Not when penance is between your thighs."

Ernest moaned in despair, and penance, otherwise known as Javert, drew himself back. Chabouillet turned the cane in his hands and held the carved wolf out towards Javert. He placed it under his chin and tilted his neck back.

"The man has already begged for mercy twice," Chabouillet said, glancing between the two naked men before him. "No doubt he will beg again when you are deep inside him."

Javert rose and rested his knees on the cushion of the canapé. He drew his own thighs apart and faced Ernest whose expression was pure contrition. He guided himself to press against Ernest's entrance and stroked one hand over his thigh. He didn't use any words of warning, but thrust in hard. Ernest cried out with a yelp of pain and Javert watched as his dripping cock spilled even more. It pooled on his stomach and ran down his thighs. The man should be grateful for his lack of release that dripped between his spread thighs and slicked his hole, for without it Javert would have thrust in dry.

Javert could see Chabouillet's own thrusts into a loosely held palm and he timed his to match his patron's motion. Chabouillet watched intently as Javert thrust into Ernest, holding himself deep for a few seconds each time before pulling out again. Each fresh thrust made Ernest scream desperately and Javert would have pitied him had he not noticed the pleasure that kept his cock hard. He writhed and pulled at his bound wrists, no doubt aching to touch himself. Javert reached one of his hands and grasped Ernest's cock firmly. Ernest shrieked at the sudden touch.

"No!" Chabouillet said firmly. "If the poor boy can make himself come then I shall not begrudge him, but it shall not be from your hand Javert."

As if he'd been burned, Javert snapped his hand away, instead resting a palm on Ernest's shoulder and another gripped round a thigh. He thrust hard and with Chabouillet in his line of sight it wasn't long before he came inside Ernest. He kept himself steady, thrust in to the hilt, and Javert was far from a small man. His length must be burning the tiny Ernest from the inside out, but he remained adamant, waiting until he'd spilled completely inside. Ernest's cheeks were wet with tears and as Javert pulled away he let out a broken sob. Javert noticed the man was still hard, he hadn't managed to come, and he must be in complete agony.

Chabouillet came into his own hand with a stifled groan a few moments later. He cleaned himself up with a handkerchief before tossing it Javert's way. Ernest was shivering from the touch that had been so cruelly taken away. Chabouillet regarded him for a moment, then he glanced at the painful erection and smirked.

"Henri will have a fine present waiting for him. Come, Javert."

Javert was halfway through pulling on his clothes and he hurriedly finished dressing in his uniform. Dutifully he stood at Chabouillet's heels and gave Ernest a companionable nod. Ernest looked distraught, a mess of tears streaked his flushed and sweaty face, his body glistened with exertion, he still sat in a pool of his own pre-release, and Javert's fresh come dripped out of him.

"You won't behave so stupidly again, will you, Monsieur Nay?"

Ernest shook his head, whimpering softly. Javert felt almost sorry for the boy, but his first duty was to Chabouillet. They exited the office and Chabouillet calmly closed the door behind him.

"I do not think Monsieur Gisquet will be coming in today," Javert said quietly. Chabouillet nodded in agreement.

"Henri rarely graces us with his pleasure after a night such as last, but our dear friend Monsieur Nay does not know that. We'll leave him there for an hour or so more, then I'll send you to release him."

"Release, Monsieur?"

"Of the bonds first and foremost, Javert. Henri and I tied him up as a bit of a joke, we fully intended to do something with him although for the life of me I cannot remember what it was, but that was hours ago and I assume the man has needs. The bonds first, and then we shall see what he deserves after that."

Javert nodded and followed his patron back to the corridors of offices where Chabouillet held court. They fell in step until they reached the door where Chabouillet turned to look at him. He was smiling, somewhat distant and amused.

"Remind me when he comes in Javert, I must tell Henri of my marvellous new cure for hangovers."


End file.
